


my head was filled with stories

by kuragins



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Multi, here's the goods boys, some of these r better than others
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragins/pseuds/kuragins
Summary: archive of all the short fics i've written on my tumblr, @andrierretashas





	1. anatole/dolokhov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dolokhov and anatole... smooching...

their first kiss is something hesitant; something soft.

  
neither of them are really expecting it, but anatole looks fedya in the eye and there’s something telling him that’s exactly the right thing to do (or maybe he’s imagining it, but that doesn’t matter, because now fedya’s kissing back and anatole’s heart is pounding something wild against his chest). it’s fumbling; awkward, of course, but there’s something sweet as well, almost a promise of what is yet to come.

  
the second time is more confident: hands find the courage to wander, bodies pressed even tighter together than either realized was possible. it’s fedya who leans forward this time, his lips more sure, his hands steadier and firmer than anatole could ever manage. anatole feels himself trembling, but he knows for sure that he’s far away from being afraid.

  
the kisses continue, as anatole knew they would. sometimes they’re the slow, sweet, languid exchanges that leave anatole pressed up against fedya, fingers laced with his, trying to get closer and closer and closer. sometimes they’re the rough, insistent press of fedya’s lips against his own, kisses that leave him gasping for air and scrabbling at the front of fedya’s unbuttoned jacket for something to hold onto, that render him speechless save for the high whines that escape from the back of his throat.

  
no matter the kiss, anatole knows that fedya’s lips will always be waiting for him, made, in anatole’s opinion, to fit exactly to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request fics like these on my [tumblr](https://andrierretashas.tumblr.com/)


	2. pierre/andrei/natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyway consider andrierretasha all reading their books on the same couch, natasha lying in the middle with her knees flung over andrei's lap and her head in pierres lap (he's stroking her hair absentmindedly) and once in a while she bursts into laughter at a funny part in her book and both her boys smile at each other over her

it’s been a dreadfully long day and they’re all so very exhausted. andrei is nearly falling asleep, almost nestled into pierre’s shoulder, but he’s forcing himself to stay awake so he can just look at natasha, see her eyes light up and feel his heart melt all over again.

  
pierre watches the both of them with the same admiration that is in andrei’s eyes. andrei, with his hair mussed from the day; and natasha, sprawled across both of their laps with a contented look covering her features. he glances at andrei, unable to keep his lips from curling up at the way he glances down natasha and then back at pierre, his incredulous look seeming to say, “how did we get so lucky?”

  
and natasha? natasha knows exactly what she’s doing. she squirms closer to her boys and watches them exchange stares, her heart leaping.


	3. pierre/andrei/natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMAGINE PREGNANT NATASHA AND PIERRE AND ANDREI MAKING UP DAD JOKES TOGETHER SO THEY CAN BOTH BE ULTIMATE DAD, AND SOMETIMES THEY BICKER OVER WHO GETS TO DRINK OUT OF THE #1 DAD MUG THAT THEY'LL SHARE AND NATASHA JUST PLAYS MEDIATOR

natasha’s sprawled on the couch, her limbs carefully arranged for maximum comfort. as it gets closer and closer to her due date, she moves less and less, forced to rely on her husbands for most things. she had expected it to be stifling, having to rely on people, but she finds herself basking in the attention.

  
now, though, neither andrei nor pierre are home, so she feels slightly restless. she’d insisted they get out of the house, to do something with just each other, after spending so much time doing things for _her_. it’s only been an hour and she already misses them. she shifts slightly, sighing in discomfort. then there’s the sound of the door opening and natasha jumps slightly, though she relaxes when she sees pierre’s familiar face. she’s noticed she’s become more skittish during her pregnancy, maybe that maternal instinct of protection already kicking in.

  
“we’re back, tasha,” pierre says, almost apologetic, andrei trailing sheepishly behind him. “we missed you. we got worried.” natasha smiles, reaching her arms toward her boys.

  
“it’s okay. i missed you too. come here.” pierre takes her outstretched hand and kisses it, andrei coming behind her to wrap his arms around her shoulders and kiss her cheek. pierre moves his head to her stomach, resting his cheek on it while andrei starts to rub her shoulders. everything is silent. they are all content.

  
that is, until natasha lets out a surprised squeak, and her hands fly to her stomach. andrei and pierre’s heads whip up, and they exchange an identical look of sheer terror. natasha starts to laugh.

  
“pierre, andrei, it’s alright. the baby’s kicking!” natasha watches pierre’s face light up at his place next to her stomach, gently placing his hands there and looking up in wonder.

  
“andrei,” he whispers, almost reverently. “come and feel this.” but andrei’s one step ahead of him, rushing to pierre’s side and putting one arm around him, . he puts his other hand on natasha’s stomach, lacing his fingers with pierre’s, and there’s a quiet adoration in his eyes that natasha has never seen before. she stares at her husbands, _her husbands_ , and thinks about how they’re going to be a family, with a little baby, and how she knows that pierre and andrei will absolutely _love_ being fathers. she’s crying now, and she can blame it on the hormones, when pierre and andrei see it, but she knows it’s something more. pierre bumps andrei’s shoulder lightly with his own.

  
“you know what this means,” he says, a smile growing on his lips. “i was at tasha’s stomach when the baby kicked, and that means that i am the superior dad.” andrei opens his mouth, ready to argue, but natasha bats at their hands that are still lying on her stomach.

  
“oh, hush, you two. you’re both going to be perfect fathers.” natasha closes her eyes, which means that she doesn’t see the way pierre and andrei look at her, a look of unbridled affection so heavy with love that an onlooker would say that it was glowing golden in the sunlight streaming into the room.

  
“come here. just sit.” the men follow natasha’s commands (how could someone _not_ follow natasha’s commands?). natasha feels so safe in their arms. it’s quiet. natasha knows that this quiet won’t last much longer, but for now, she can just enjoy her time with the two people she loves most, with a third waiting patiently to meet them.


	4. anatole/dolokhov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you angry with me?" for danatole omg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> character death warning.....sorry.....

dolokhov runs to the tent, hoping beyond all hope that this is some horrifying dream and he'll wake up any second. the moment he sees anatole, though, he's knows immediately that this is horrifying real life. he couldn't make anatole look like that, even in his worst nightmare.

he's lying limp on the cot, eyes glazed over. he's shivering, teeth chattering at a volume dolokhov didn't know was possible. and his leg--oh, _god_ , his leg is _gone_ , and the blood that's slick on the thin sheets is obscene. dolokhov hovers for a moment, knowing that going any closer could send him straight into the midst of a panic attack. on the other hand, anatole's staring at him, mouth moving slightly as if he's trying to say something but can't quite get it out. dolokhov manages to go to his side, pointedly looking away from his leg (or, lack of one).

anatole's even worse up close. his skin has taken on a sickly yellow shade, and there's a sheen of sweat covering his face. his breathing is shallow. dolokhov knows from his military days that anatole is a dead man. he grabs his hand and holds it to his cheek.

"fuck," he whispers. anatole blinks. "fuck," he says again. "anatole, what the _fuck_?" anatole shifts his head ever so slightly.

"fedya, are you...are you angry with me?" anatole's voice is weak, so quiet that dolokhov barely hears it. dolokhov suddenly feels incredibly guilty. his shoulders shake with silent sobs as he moves to brush sweat-soaked hair away from anatole's face.

"tolya--no, of course not--i could never... i'm just angry that this is happening. that you got hurt," he trails off, watching anatole as his eyes focus on his face, then lose focus again, staring at the ceiling. he stays there for a few more minutes, silent tears dripping onto anatole's arm as he strokes his hand.

the doctor comes by in a little bit, barely breaking step as he informs dolokhov there was nothing they could have done, that the infection's set in and all they can do is make sure he's comfortable. part of dolokhov wants to jump up and duel the man right there, but deep down he knows that they _really_ couldn't do anything. anatole coughs, tiny and barely there, and dolokhov squeezes his hand until anatole weakly makes to pull away.

"fedya, i-i'm dying, aren't i?" anatole licks his lips. his lips are so dry, and cracked, and so, so pale. dolokhov tenses up.

"anatole, don't even joke about these things." dolokhov's voice sounds unnecessarily harsh, even to him. "you're going to be just fine," he says, softer. anatole shakes his head with great effort.

"no, i know i'm dying and i- and I need to say this." he stops for a moment, short of breath. "i love you, fedya. for so long. i'm _in_ love with you." satisfied, he lets his head fall back onto the pillow, eyes still moving while the rest of his body is still. fedya's crying in earnest, now, heaving sobs wracking his body.

"i love- i love you too," he manages to choke out, face buried in anatole's arm. anatole doesn't respond.

dolokhov touches his hand. it's cold already.


	5. anatole/dolokhov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Then why do you say you love me?!" "Why can't you just be you" Danatole. Make me cry por favor

dolokhov paces. he paces, and paces and paces, unable to look at anatole's pale face.

"why?" he whispers. it's quiet, defeated, quite the opposite of his usual rough air, the ways he had learned as a soldier. it's broken. anatole looks on the verge of tears, but dolokhov knows he can't let that sway him.

"fedya- i- i--" anatole can't form a full sentence, his lips quivering. dolokhov's eyes burn and he stares anatole in the face for the first time since it happened.

"don't call me that," he snarls, anatole jumping back. "you don't have the right, not anymore." dolokhov hopes he looks threatening enough, considering that he feels like every breath is bringing him closer to a panic attack. anatole starts to cry. it's ugly and sniffling, and dolokhov knows that sound from the countless times he's comforted him, stroking his hair. _don't listen to him, don't let him beat you,_ dolokhov repeats to himself. "this can't work. not if you're going to try to run off with the first woman you see and leave me behind," dolokhov manages, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. anatole has the gall to look offended.

"i loved her," he says, like the idiot he is. anatole's eyes are glittering with tears and he looks at dolokhov as if _he's_ is the one in the wrong. dolokhov tries to scoff, but it comes out as a sob. there are tears on his face and they're choking him and every time he looks at anatole he can't breathe.

"then why do you say you love _me?"_ it only registers to dolokhov that he was the one who had said it when it's hanging in the air already, surrounded by silence. asking a question that he knows anatole doesn't have the answer to.

"because i do love you! you can love more than one person, and i love you too." he says it as if it's a simple fact, as if he hadn't just cheated on him with natasha rostova, tried to run off with her without a word to dolokhov. god, how could he have been stupid enough to fall in love with _anatole kuragin?_

"anatole, you obviously don't love me enough to not fucking _cheat on me!"_ he's yelling now. the dam has broken, all of his anger and frustration and sadness rushing out in a massive wave that surges around anatole and engulfs him. anatole cowers. dolokhov is glad. "go. get out. i was wrong for ever loving you." anatole doesn't move.

"why can't you just be _you?"_ anatole whispers, standing his ground. "the fedya dolokhov i met, the fedya dolokhov i fell in love with? you let me live, then. you didn't keep me on a leash." dolokhov clenches his fists, willing himself not to jump on anatole and let his army instincts take over. when he speaks, his tone is too calm, too even, and he's even confused with himself.

"asking you to be faithful isn't 'keeping you on a leash,' anatole. you're just an asshole, and i'm an idiot." he laughs, a bitter, forced sound that feels foreign on his lips. "here's me letting your fucking _leash_ go. we're over. leave." dolokhov turns away, refuses to listen to anything anatole has to say. eventually the door slams, and he knows anatole is gone. dolokhov sits against the wall as the sun goes down, holding a bottle of vodka. he doesn't cry. he's numb.


	6. anatole/dolokhov, nsfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk if you take requests but I love you're Danatole fics, so could you do something like Anatole just completely letting Dolokhov take over for the first time (can be nsfw or something ordinary you're choice!)

anatole leans back in fedya's desk chair, spinning slowly.

"fedya," anatole whines, drawing out the end of his name. fedya barely looks up from his work.

"stop being impatient," he says, nibbling on the end of his pen. anatole kicks his legs around and pouts, ever childish.

"fedya, you can't just invite me over and then keep me waiting," he drawls, stopping the chair and leaning so far back that he sees fedya upside down. his boyfriend finally looks up, rolling his eyes as he sees him. "i thought we were gonna fuck, this is _boring."_ fedya hums, already looking away.

"patience is a virtue, babe. i'm almost done." anatole bounces in the chair for a bit, then stops. after getting up, anatole makes a beeline for the tiny bed that fedya is on, settling himself in his lap. fedya finally sets his work aside as anatole starts kissing his neck, snaking his arms around fedya and latching onto him. he doesn't notice fedya smirk.

"alright, tolya, if we're doing this, we're doing it _right_ ," he says, rather cryptically, and anatole has no idea what he's talking about until fedya uses all his strength to flip the both of them around so that he's straddling anatole and looking triumphant.

"oh no, no, no, this isn't it, i'm not a fucking _bottom_." anatole shakes his head and shies away from fedya's incoming lips. fedya snorts.

"anatole, you're joking. you're like...the twinkest twink i've ever met." anatole gasps, not quite sure if he's actually offended by that or not. he decides on the stance of _yes, very much_ , because anatole kuragin, a bottom? impossible. he decides to press his luck.

"prove it, then." his tone is final, as if he actually believes he isn't a bottom. "you couldn't top me if you tried." fedya bursts out into laughter.

"you're going to regret this," he manages. anatole frowns. "god, you're acting like such a bottom _right now!_ "

"give me your worst," anatole shoots, his attempted glare lost on fedya as he readjusts himself on top of anatole and flashes his signature smirk that makes anatole's knees go weak.

"don't say you didn't tell me to," says fedya, and immediately pins anatole's hands to the bed and kisses him. anatole lets out a soft _mph,_ slightly surprised, but then relaxes into the kiss, unable to resist fedya's gentle mouth on his. fedya pulls back, and anatole reaches his head towards him, chasing his lips. fedya grins, and even though anatole knows he's succumbing to fedya's whole plan, he can't help but sink into mattress, breathing heavily. fedya leans back down and sets to work on his neck, nipping and sucking and _teasing,_ and anatole is too flustered to be angry.

when fedya starts to roll his hips against anatole's, anatole can't help it. he lets out a high pitched moan, something filthy, one that makes fedya's eyes widen and betray that he is enjoying this as much as anatole is. anatole himself seems surprised by it as he bites his lip to keep any more sound from escaping. when fedya regains himself, he begins to chuckle, bringing his mouth much too close to anatole's ear.

"so much for not being a bottom, you slut," he growls softly, anatole merely whining in response. "oh, you like that, don't you? okay, _slut,_ don't move unless i tell you, understand?" anatole can only nod shakily, and fedya nips his earlobe before drawing back and resuming the motion of his hips. more tiny moans are drawn from anatole's lips. "shirt off," murmurs fedya. anatole complies, undoing the buttons as quickly as he can as his hands shake. when he's free, fedya immediately drags his teeth down anatole's bare chest, stopping every so often to suck a bruise onto the pale skin. anatole's feeling everything and nothing at once, the world blurring into a fuzzy sea of _fedya, fedya, fedya._

fedya looks up as he reaches the top of anatole's pants. he stalls for a moment, fingers ghosting at the button, achingly slow.

"fedya, _please_ ," anatole groans, clutching at his own hair. fedya smiles at him, a wicked, wicked smile that made anatole's blood run hot and cold at the same time.

"did i say you could talk?"


	7. anatole/dolokhov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How are you still alive?" For Danatole if you're still doing these, or anything else in that general realm which may seem interesting to you ♡

dolohov's restless. he supposes he's been restless his whole life. nothing can really change his nature; the way his piercing, blue eyes shift quickly, calculating and cold. anatole tries to break his shell, though he still hasn't managed. dolokhov intends for that to remain the case. he doesn't want someone like anatole, so shallow in his view of the world, to worm their way into his life.

dolokhov shifts in his bed, winces as he moved his shoulder. that damned bezukhov. he can vaguely remember a time when he was friends with pierre, maybe even more. he doesn't dwell on it. too much reminiscing can make one weak, in dolokhov's opinion. it's best to focus on the present.

the door creaks open. dolokhov wants to roll his eyes. of _course_ it's anatole.

"fedya, hello, how are you?" anatole keeps his voice low, as if he's afraid any loud noise will make fedya immediately fall into a coma, or something else just as ludicrous. he comes to the side of the bed, setting himself gingerly on the edge, hip pressing against dolokhov's. dolokhov finds it irritating, anatole's need for constant touch. when anatole reaches up to push a piece of hair out of his face, he wants to cringe away.

"anatole, i'm fine," dolokhov grumbles. " you didn't have to come here." _i wish you hadn't._ anatole frowns slightly.

"fedya, i'm just worried about you. you _know_ that, why do you keep pushing me away?" anatole looks genuinely hurt, an expression foreign to his face. dolokhov almost feels bad, almost, but anatole's pout is unbecoming of him. "how are you still alive, fedya?" he says softly. dolokhov scoffs.

"anatole, i was shot in the shoulder, not the head," he says. "for once, can you think rationally?" anatole seems to droop.

"no, that's not--i mean... just the way you act. like nothing bothers you. you're always...picking fights. someday it's not going to _be_ your shoulder." anatole's voice cracks, and his hand finds its way to dolokhov's cheek. it's too soft. "just--try to understand how that makes people feel..." he trails off. "fedya, that- that really scared me." dolokhov has to suppress a cruel laugh. anatole thinks he _means_ something to dolokhov.

"anatole, i need rest," dolokhov says, closing his eyes and blocking out the rest of anatole's words. he feels anatole press a kiss to his forehead. he ignores it. he hears anatole's boots thumping on the ground, and he chances a glance out of a squinted eye. anatole's shoulders slump as he leaves the room.


	8. sonya/mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SONYAMARY DATE SONYAMARY DATE

if mary were to be honest, she’d tell you that she never really enjoyed aquariums. she didn’t like the harsh light, or the screaming kids. she remembers going with andrei when they were very young and simply fighting with him the whole time. if she didn’t have to go back to one in her life, she’d be happy.

sonya grabs mary’s hand, pulling her along so quickly that she stumbles slightly.

“babe, babe, come look at these ones,” she says, slightly too loud considering that she’s still very close to mary’s face. mary smiles all the same. sonya points to the fish, taking mary’s hand along with it. they stare at them in relative silence before sonya jumps a bit, mary flinching involuntarily. sonya gestures excitedly to the most colorful one, all sweeping fins and regal movement. “masha, this one’s you, because it’s the most beautiful.” she says it so nonchalantly, as if it’s what’s the most sure in the world. mary’s face flushes. after all this time, sonya can still fluster her with only a few words.

mary supposes that she could grow to like aquariums.


	9. sonya/mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SonyaMary with cats!!!

mary groans as sonya leans into her shoulder, staring at her pleadingly.

"sonyushka, you _know_ we can't get her," she says quietly, her resolve already slipping. sonya huffs against mary's sweater. "we can't have pets in our apartment! we'd get thrown out or something."

"but _look_ at her!" sonya nudges the cat towards mary, and its paws slide on the smooth floor. mary begrudgingly reaches down to pet its ears, the cat pushing against her hand. it's orange, slightly scruffy, and it most certainly reminds mary of her girlfriend. sonya picks up the cat by its tiny body and holds it close to her face.

"sonya, you can't just--that's cheating, it's too cute," mary squeaks, blushing. the cat mewls softly. sonya's eyes light up, and a lopsided grin appears on her face as she glances over to it. mary knows it's a losing battle.

that night, as sonya curls against her chest and the cat drapes itself over sonya's neck, mary finds that she doesn't give a fuck about her landlord.


	10. sonya/mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> concept: mary actually lives for collarbone kisses.

mary pulls sonya close to her bare chest, letting her hand stray below the covers to rest protectively on sonya's hip. sonya nuzzles into mary's shoulder, only lifting her head when mary presses a kiss to the top of her hair. she gazes at mary through her eyelashes, a tiny smile turning her lips upward.

"love you," she murmurs, her arm settling around mary's stomach, fingers tracing patterns into her side. she presses a soft kiss to mary's collarbone before she lays her cheek right below it, eyes closing. mary smiles.


	11. pierre/andrei/natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay another concept: andrierretasha and polaroids. they’re all over the apartment just scattered on the counter the fridge wedged into novels abandoned halfway through reading

natasha sets her keys on the hall table, humming quietly to herself as she slips her coat off. she stops for a moment to admire the polaroids pinned to the wall, warm reminders of past times that she treasures every time she walks in the door.

it's an exceptionally average day, so natasha feels a slight jump in her chest when andrei and pierre don't greet her at the door as usual. she calms, though, when she sees the two asleep on the couch, content. natasha often marvels at how in love she is with them.

natasha smiles as she notices pierre's book lying forgotten on his lap, his eyes now closed as he leans against andrei's chest. wedged between the pages is another polaroid, one that pierre fondly insists is his favorite: natasha, running happily to the sunflowers in their garden while andrei chases after her, laughing. natasha can admit that she quite loves that one, too.

she watches andrei shift in his sleep, watches him reach subconsciously for pierre's hand. she grabs her camera from the kitchen table (andrei often berates her for never putting anything away) and raises it to her boys. she decides she has a new favorite.

 


	12. anatole/dolokhov, nsfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: danatole hype sex before the abduction ?

anatole lets dolokhov push him against the wall, lets him slot their lips together, lets his arms come around dolokhov’s neck and grab at the back of his hair.

it’s somewhat of a routine for them: one allows the other to drag him to the darkest, dingiest corner of the club, trying their best to muffle their noises as the drunken shouts of the club seem worlds away. there’s always that thrill of being caught, one that makes anatole’s hair stand on end and makes dolokhov chuckle and pull anatole’s hips even closer to him. (granted, most of the clubgoers are too inebriated to pay them any mind, even if they happen upon the scene, but anatole can’t help the way he flushes red every time.)

dolokhov snakes a hand into anatole’s pants and wraps a hand around him, anatole’s hips coming forward involuntarily. anatole buries his face in the fabric of dolokhov’s uniform. it’s familiar to him. anatole suddenly realizes he’s scared. natasha is beautiful, and enchanting, and radiant and graceful and trusting and loving, but she’s not familiar. that’s dolokhov.

the insistent press of dolokhov’s hand, the smirk of a soldier, the scratch of dolokhov’s beard against his lips–anatole gasps into dolokhov’s shoulder as he comes over his hand, shuddering. dolokhov draws back, something sad in his eyes.

“let’s go, they’re waiting,” he whispers, gesturing towards the raucous yells of the club. anatole follows him


	13. anatole/dolokhov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can u write some danatole doin some cute fall shit. playing in leaves or watching scary movies or just something. like that

it's crisp.

that's the first word that comes to mind as anatole breathes in, squinting up at the overcast sky as he leans against the front window of the coffee shop. the door opens beside him, and fedya thrusts a cardboard cup at him, holding one of his own.

"i can't believe i actually ordered that for you," he says, wrinkling his nose. "the barista gave me such a dirty look." he glances at anatole, who's starting to slide down the glass a little. "also, stop leaning on that. there's people right by the window and they don't need to see your ass." anatole hums and pushes himself up, leaving fingerprints. fedya rolls his eyes. "okay, you wanted to go on a fucking walk or something?"

anatole merely nods matter-of-factly and sets off down the street, leaving fedya no choice but to attempt to catch up with him. anatole grabs at his hand, swinging their arms as they walk.

"so, what's the whole point of this walk?" asks fedya, impatiently. anatole gestures widely to the open air.

"nothing! that's the point! appreciate the fall! breathe the cold!" fedya snorts and elbows him lightly in the ribs.

"it's not even cold," he says, running a hand down the sleeve of anatole's coat. "this coat is ridiculous. it's so big." anatole simply smiles and clings to fedya's arm, fedya rolling his eyes, but still holding anatole close to his side, hand never straying from his.


	14. anatole & natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post post 'abduction' AU equivalent with detatched slightly-drunk-but not-enough anatole muttering it to natasha outside at a party and she's like holy shit fuck you don't even fucking start you almost ruined my life / grumpily giving him relationship advice because she sees he's just being flighty because things are actually getting serious w fedya now and the gravity of that is terrifying / so he's being mopey and self destructive and she's not having it

natasha wraps her jacket closer around herself as she presses her back against rough brick, her eyes fluttering closed. she can still hear the muffled thump of the bass inside the building. she's never really liked the club. it's too bright, too loud, too overwhelming. she always has to slip outside, taking in deep, shuddering breaths of fresh air as she escapes what feels like a wall of people pressing towards her.

a hand falls heavily on her shoulder, and she straightens up, immediately on guard. she spins around to come face to face with anatole kuragin. he leans against the wall, a vacant smile plastered on his features. natasha steps back a few inches and glances over her shoulder. a couple is smoking somewhere behind her, their voices barely reaching her ears, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. anatole edges towards her.

"natalie," he says.

"don't call me that," she murmurs, looking to the ground. "why are you here?" she gestures weakly to their whole situation, anatole standing far too close to her in this grimy alley off the back door of a club in the dead of winter.

"i wanted to see you. i keep seeing you everywhere. it's driving me insane that i can't—that i can't talk to you, o-or _touch_ you." he reaches toward natasha's elbow, but she backs away so quickly that she nearly trips over herself.

"don't say that." her voice shakes. "you ruined my life. don't you dare say that." anatole's relentless as he steps forward again.

"you know, every time i️ see you, i fall in love with you all over again," he says, his speech slightly slurred (but not slurred enough for any of this to make _sense)_ , and natasha's eyes go wide.

"no. no. you're not allowed to fucking say that. you ruined my life." she takes a shuddering breath. "what the _fuck_? i know that's not why you're here. i know it's not. why are you here?" anatole suddenly loses his bravado, slumping against the wall and starting to slide down it. natasha doesn't move any closer, but something in her softens when she sees his dejected face. "it's not really me, is it?" her voice is even now. it's not a question.

anatole shakes his head. his hands go to his eyes, and natasha realizes he's crying. she doesn't comfort him. she can't do that to herself.

"anatole, stop being the massive _idiot_ i know you are," she says, edged with the anger she she wished she could have expressed to him so much earlier. he stiffens at that, and something deep down inside her is glad. "it's fedya, isn't it?" his silence is enough of an answer.

"he says—he says he loves me," anatole manages, his voice strained.

it takes all natasha has in her not to sigh with exasperation. "like i said, stop being an idiot." she begrudgingly slides down the wall so she's eye-level with him. "you love him too." he looks up at her, eyebrows drawn in confusion. "it's the way you look at him. i just can tell." he curls into himself, hugging his knees to his chest. it should fuel her anger, really, the way he acts, but the only feeling natasha can dig up from inside her is pity. he's silent until the door to the club slams open, making them both jump. fedya sticks his head out of the open doorway.

"tolya, where the hell have you been? i've been looking everywhere, come back in." he nods at natasha, and she smiles politely in return. anatole stands up, brushing himself off.

natasha blinks as she watches him, and as he looks at her _gratefully,_ she knows there's some sort of understanding between them. she can't help but notice the hand that wraps around anatole's waist as he heads back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> request fics like these on my [tumblr](https://andrierretashas.tumblr.com/)


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